I'd Like To Think At Least Things Can't Get Any Worse
by Chloes-Cheese
Summary: Modern day AU: Eponine's day has been complete shit and Marius and Cosette showing up at the bar isn't helping. But when it rains, it pours, as she learns trying to drink away her problems with Grantaire might actually only lead to more trouble. And it might just lead to whole string of circumstances she never could have predicted. Eponine/Grantaire Bromance. Eponine/Enjolras.
1. Hurricane Drunk

**Author's Note: Hello fair readers and welcome to my first Enjolras/Eponine fic. I would like to start out by dedicating this fic to Captain Tiny for her sheer enthusiasm and support in helping me through a tough time and for editing this. She is an amazing writer herself but her excitement to read this even when she didn't know what it was about really spurred me on. Anyway, here's it is. Thank you for the patience. She's the greatest person in the whole entire universe and definitely didn't add this extra in when she was beta-ing. (well she did but it's still true)**

**I also want to say that this fic was (as you can probably tell) was inspired by Florence + the Machine's Hurricane Drunk about three weeks ago but I finally found the time to sit down and write it after my homework ate me for a long time. While it ended up changing drastically from what was originally intended, I'm proud but nervous about how it turned out.**

**Well that's all for up here, hope you all enjoy!**

_I'm going out,  
I'm gonna drink myself to death  
And in the crowd  
I see you with someone else,  
I brace myself,  
Cause I know it's going to hurt,  
But I like to think at least things can't get any worse.  
_

"Eponine! What are you doing here? It's your only night off this week! Go home!" Musichetta, my coworker and friend insisted kindly as she filled up a glass of beer for a patron at the other end of the bar from me.

"I would if I was welcome, or if it were worth going home to," I replied bitterly over the din of the bar in full swing for the evening.

A look of sympathy passed over the face of my fellow bartender but she didn't say anything (thank God) as she set a bottle down in front of me. "On the house."

I muttered a quick thanks before taking in a sip as I settled into the idea of another night in the dingy bar I seemed to be spending most of my waking hours in lately.

Fortunately, I was saved from further such depressing meditations by the loud entrance of our best customers. The boys from the university's political activist group were a fun collection to be sure. Fond of drink and an open, amiable place to discuss their aims, they were here nearly every night. They greeted me in a boisterous manner and kept me company as I worked most nights which made coming in to work less of a chore. On this particular evening, a small part of me didn't know whether to regret or be thankful that one Marius Pontmercy – an old friend, a new addition to the group, and also the unknowing recipient of all of my romantic inclinations for the last two years – was absent.

Before I could decide, the bar stool beside me was filled by the man who would probably keep us from ever going out of business single-handedly.

"Greetings fair, Eponine," he hailed enthusiastically as he turned to face me.

"Looks like someone got the partystarted early," I commented when I caught a whiff of his breath as he leaned in.

"What can I say?" he said unabashedly with a shake of his dark curls. "I _am _the party."

I laughed as I brought my bottle up to my lips. The action seemed to catch his attention as he pointed animatedly at my drink.

"You're drinking. Like actually drinking," he said with great amusement.

"Yeah, dummy. I can do that when I'm not working," I expanded as I could tell not all the pieces had come together in his alcohol soaked brain.

A light finally lit behind his eyes as he noticed where I was sitting for the first time.

"You're not working!" he called joyously as he looked me over properly, "And you've got legs! And what nice legs they are!"

I whacked him on the back of the head as I caught his legs lingering on the hemline of my dress. "You've seen my legs before, dumbass."

"Yes, but they're normally obscured by a par or pants or alcohol," he maintained obstinately. "And mademoiselle, that is one nice skirt. Is there a special occasion or are you just happy to see me?"

I thought about making something up but, drunk and stubborn Grantaire might be, he was also a good guy and some part of me wanted to tell someone, anyone, and he was better than any random stranger.

"Well I was going to go on a date with the latest moneybag my parents set me up with in the hopes of getting money from but he was a creep. When he got handsy with me in the cab on the way to the restaurant, I dumped his ass and walked home from there. Of course my parents were furious. They claimed I wasn't doing my part even though I put up with so much shit from them for Gav's sake, but they said I wasn't doing enough and when I actually stood up for myself for the first time in years, they said they had enough of my ungratefulness so they kicked me out." I took a breath from the stream of anger and frustration that had built up since God knew how long, and rose my bottle. "So here's to homelessness and assholes all around."

I could see a deep sympathy and understanding in his eyes at my words that belied his usual joking demeanor but then it was gone with a downing of a shot as if he was trying to escape something my confession had brought to mind. He then was back to his usual mood with a beckoning to Musichetta, "Let's get some drinks for the lady! The hard stuff, if you please."

"No no," I quickly interjected. Despite being a bartender, I had never acquired the same voracity for alcohol that Grantaire had. Then again, I don't think anyone on the entire planet could.

But Grantaire was not one to be discouraged as he put down the full glass of some sort of dangerous concoction Musichetta had given him in front of me, with a traitorous wink in my direction.

"Come on 'Ponine," he implored with a slight whine. "What's the point of being a grown up if you can't use copious amounts of alcohol to deal with shit?"

I wasn't entirely sure his philosophy was working for him (and I was convinced his liver agreed with me) but I wasn't going to toss a stone at his glass house since he was being so delicate with mine.

So I chose not to say anything in favor of laughing him off gently instead, "I'm good, R, but thank you for the offer."

He groaned something about me being a party pooper but didn't push me. He never did, which was one of the things I'd always appreciated about him. Instead I took another sip of my beer while he helped himself to the drink meant for me, as I began to prepare myself for a casual evening of trying to figure what the hell I was going to do with myself.

And that was when I heard the door open. Too many nights working the bar had wired my brain to respond to that little bell, which gave me the perfect first look of Marius and Cosette entering the Musain hand-in-hand, looking for all the world like the poster couple for committed relationships.

The sight made the bottom of my stomach drop out and my heart break just a little bit more.

I could not deal with this tonight. Gropey McAsshole and the Heavyweight Champions for Paris' Crappiest Parents were one thing, and all the years of dealing with them had grown me a thick skin. But this? This was a fresh new level of hell.

It'd been hard enough pining hopelessly after a guy who saw me only as a trusted friend akin to a dear sister, but being the one who had introduced him to whom he'd taken to refer to as "the light of his life"? That was like a punch to the chest ever single damn time I saw them.

But of course I would never say anything because they were perfect for each other in every way. He was obliviously kind to all he met and she was probably the sweetest and most forgiving girl in the world.

And seeing them that night was the final nail in the coffin of any thoughts of holding on to sobriety. There were some nights that were meant to be spent drunk. Before I could second guess such a decision I took the drink that Grantaire had claimed as his own from his hand and downed it in one go.

Grantaire whooped victoriously at this development paying no mind to the theft of his drink, and was quick to order another pair for us. Before Marius and Cosette could even reach the bar through the crowd, R and I had downed our second batch of mystery drinks. My throat started to burn as I heard a slight ringing in my ears. I'm not sure what Musichetta had put in those but I was already beginning to feel slightly tipsy.

_Perfect._

_..._

_I hope that you see me,  
Cause I'm staring at you,  
But when you look over,  
You look right through_

Enjolras saw all this from his usual table in the corner and found himself once more with doubts on whether a bar was perhaps the best place to hold his political discussions. But he had to admit that it had its merits beyond the readily accessible supply of alcohol and amiable staff. He'd found it was a central enough location for his Les Amis de l'ABC while being close enough to the college for them to congregate there after class. But all of these facts were secondary to what Enjolras viewed as being the number one contributing factor to meeting there night after night- the access it gave him to the people.

He could give all of the speeches and hold all of the rallies he wanted to, but they couldn't compare to the informal atmosphere the bar gave him to hold his interviews with the people of the city. Though every bar had its regulars – himself and his comrades being the Musain's – most of the patrons were transient in nature and came from all walks of life. And Enjolras was always listening and watching to better understand the plights of the common man.

Eponine was far from exempt from Enjolras's encompassing gaze. He noticed the way her eyes lit up and followed Pontmercy every time he entered. He saw the bruises on her upper arms when her sleeves rolled up as she reached for bottles from the high shelves. He could tell the days she faked her smile and the nights she let them stay past closing time because she didn't want to go home.

Her story was but one among a great many but he heard it none the less. He knew many whose suffering was far worse; but he didn't think she (or anyone else) should have to suffer as she did. It was for the people like her that he hoped to give a voice to with his ideals of an upheaval of the current political class system.

But that time was yet to come, so for now he simply watched and that night was no exception. Unlike Grantaire, Enjolras immediately noticed that Eponine was on the wrong side of the counter to be working. Her short skirt and high heels spoke of higher hopes, yet her mere presence, not to mention the slump of her shoulders, told the story of plans gone wrong. Why else, after working seven nights in a row would she be here again with no company save a beer bottle and a sad smile?

He was glad to see Grantaire go keep her company as he settled in with Combeferre at his table with his books, but he resolved to keep an eye on her throughout the evening. It seemed that no sooner had he made this resolution than a tinkling from the front indicated a new arrival. With one glance at Eponine, Enjolras knew immediately who it was without laying eyes on his classmate or the beautiful blonde.

And as troubling as it was to see her down drinks like her life depended on it, it was nothing compared to how the next few hours went. He kept waiting for her to pull herself together but she seemed to following Grantaire down the dangerous path of drinking his feelings away. She was drinking and acting ridiculous and she and R seemed to be holding a competition over who could embarrass themselves the most thoroughly. And from a young woman who normally had such a level head and sense of reasoning, it was deeply troubling to Enjolras. He wanted to stop her but it wasn't his place. He wasn't her guardian, or case worker, or boyfriend, or brother, and he had no claim on her life to tell her how to behave or how to deal with her problems. He felt intense gratitude towards Musichetta when she cut them off but they were both already so wasted that they weren't to be put off by such a restriction. They still carried on like fools and Enjolras was finding it harder and harder to pay attention to his research or Combeferre's patient discussions with him.

By 2 o'clock in the morning most of the other patrons had trickled out but Enjolras' eye kept being diverted by the rambunctious drunk duo when suddenly Grantaire ambled over to their table. He claimed he had the best idea for their coming revolution.

Grantaire then proceeded to start tipping over the little tables and chairs to make a small barricade between the table in the corner and the door. And as amusing as his reenactment of France's tumultuous past was, Grantaire was slurring something fierce and was making such a noise that to Enjolras' not quite so intoxicated mind was excessively loud and not quite as clever as it might have been otherwise. So distracted was he by Grantaire's stirring and not at all mocking attempts at a revolution in the Musain, that it was a good three minutes before he realized something was off: Grantaire's partner in crime and fellow revolutionary was no longer in the pub.

Normally Enjolras would not have been worried; Eponine was a very capable and street-smart girl and he'd seen her knee more than a few unruly patrons in the crotch when they got too intimate, but she wasn't herself tonight. She was highly inebriated and not in her right mind and here it was in the hours of the night when Paris' least reputable citizens roamed the streets. He couldn't help the surge of concern he felt in that moment so before her knew it he was attempting to scale R's intoxicated barricade with Combeferre's help and was out the door as quickly as he could.

"Enjolras, what is it?" Combeferre asked worriedly as he followed his friend out into the night.

"Eponine," he answered immediately. "She left the bar."

Fortunately, no other explanations were necessary as he could see in his friend's eyes that he understood the situation completely and quickly helped him scan the streets for the missing drunk girl.

...

_No home,_  
_I don't want shelter,_  
_No calm,_  
_Nothing to keep me from the storm,_  
_And you can't hold me down,_  
_'Cause I belong to the hurricane,_  
_It's gonna blow us all away._

I had just wanted a smoke – my filthy habit – but the bar was suddenly too loud for me to think or find my pack. My skirt was too short and the pockets were too small and I suddenly felt that I was too high from the ground in my skyscraper shoes. So when R started his revolution I felt a need for a little change of my own and my bleary mind decided that the floor inside the bar was far too dirty to go barefoot in, but obviously the alley out the back was much better.

Taking off the mile high things on my feet was much harder than it should have been. I stumbled a lot. Somehow I staggered down the alley and down another street as I tried to find the best place to put my shoes and find my smokes.

It just all felt very silly and strange, and the world was spinning. Did I stumble onto a merry-go-round? When did the circus come to town? It must have, for there was the knife thrower and the trained bear coming towards me from off stage. The knife-thrower wasn't as showy as I'd remembered and the bear was leaner and less furry than he should have been.

I couldn't help but giggle at the absurdity of a mostly hairless bear. He growled at me as if he could understand me; perhaps the circus animals were much more intelligent than most. The knife thrower grabbed my arm and brandished his blade dramatically in my face. This all seemed off somehow. I didn't remember volunteering for a demonstration.

He started to growl something in my ear. That was certainly odd, wasn't it? I thought the bear was supposed to be the one who growled. I wasn't sure though, my head was still ringing and I thought I could hear the sounds of the carnival outside echoing in my head.

The world was still spinning but they were gripping far too tight. I would have to have a talk with the ring leader about proper showmanship, because the knife man needed to work on his people skills. The growls were growing louder and I wasn't having fun anymore. I'd never been good in front of crowds and I didn't trust this knife man anymore. I didn't think I wanted to run away and join the circus like I had as a child after all. This act was far too close for comfort and the bear didn't seem very tame to me.

I tried to voice my protestations; my requests that they find another volunteer, but the unfriendly circus folk would have none of it and started pinning me against the wall anyway. But before I could say anything else, there was a shout from the crowd and I could see the lion-tamer entering the ring. Or maybe it was just the lions? All I could hear were roars and all I could see was a short golden mane advancing towards us. The unfriendly knife-thrower didn't seem daunted at first with his trained bear on my other side but then there was an explosion to my left as the human cannonball exploded into the ring.

Was this the grand finale? I'd never seen so many acts on stage together at once.

The knife man must have agreed and taken the hint that his act had run on too long because suddenly he let me go forcefully and retreated back into the dark with his growling bear in tow. Something wasn't right though, the knife thrower clearly wasn't a professional because my arm hurt more than it should and I found myself falling to the ground, head banging against the wall as I went.

Someone really should see about taking the circus off the merry go round it was making my head spin something fierce.

...

_And I've never felt so alive or so dead._

In the minutes Combeferre and Enjolras spent searching the surrounding streets and alleys for Eponine; Combeferre couldn't help but notice the intense look of worry on his friend's face throughout the search. Not that he could blame him; his own heart had kicked into double time at the contemplation of what might find the young woman in the dark in the state she was in. He hardly allowed himself to think on the awful what-ifs and instead he let his thoughts wander to Enjolras. The situation made him think on what people said about the young man; the whispers that he was made of marble. And in times like this Combeferre couldn't think them more false.

It was true Enjolras was devoted to his cause and the first to quash diverting talks of love and feelings during the meetings, but that wasn't because he didn't have any; far from it. He had more compassion than nearly any other Combeferre had ever seen, he was just better at masking them or channeling them into more productive action. Enjolras had never seen the use of mooning over feelings or discussing them pointlessly. Why talk about how you feel when you can do something with them? He'd always been good about focusing his passion and his fire and utter concern for his fellow man into fruitful deeds.

This was but one such occasion in which Enjolras had gone out of his way to help people in situations lesser than his. Combeferre knew Enjolras was well off and technically out of the class of most of the people around him, but he never acted like that. He didn't live luxuriously. He didn't care for clothes or a fancy apartment, or even a car. He was content enough to walk and wear whatever was most sensible. He didn't indulge in Starbucks or fine dining – in fact he would on occasion forget to eat if someone didn't remind him. He had such a large compassion and intellect, it was a wonder it could fit into his frame and Combeferre felt privileged to be Enjolras's friend and confidant.

But, with all of his friend's careful observations and understanding, there were some things even he was blind to, and one of which was the great amount of notice he'd been paying to the slight bartender as of late. Combeferre was of the extreme belief that Enjolras wasn't even aware of the extra attention; of the way his eyes would dart to Eponine during the long nights spent at the Musain. If it had been anyone else Combeferre might have brought it up, suggested that his friend might make something of it. But this was Enjolras.

Enjolras who had many times insisted that he wasn't looking for a relationship, that such a bond would distract him from what needed to be done. Combeferre agreed with Enjolras on most important matters but this was one such occasion that he thought Enjolras was wrong. A relationship didn't mean that nothing else was important, or that it was either the relationship or your goals as Enjolras had believed. A relationship could strengthen you; drive you to be a better person; could combine with your goals and help you achieve them better in ways you couldn't imagine. And Combeferre silently believed that such a connection with Eponine would be really good for the pair.

Of course he would never say anything, but tonight at seeing the near panic in Enjolras' eyes at realizing Eponine was missing, Combeferre prayed for his friend's sake that they'd find the girl in one piece.

In the end it was the giggling that helped the men find her. The giggling that had been wafting through the light atmosphere of the bar for the last few hours, the giggling that had made Enjolras smile unconsciously more than once. But it was so out of place here in the dark, gritty streets that smiling was the farthest thing from Enjolras' mind as he rounded the corner to find the young woman, insensible and pushed against the wall as two thugs surrounded her, one with a knife pressed to her cheek.

The growl that came forth from Enjolras was instinctual and immediately caught the attention of the muggers. The skeevy looking one with the blade clutched her arm tighter, though she seemed too out of it to notice, but for a pinch of her brow. Combeferre and Enjolras advanced; the latter calling out a warning to release her. The ruffians looked as though they wanted to put up a fight, as if they felt they could take the two on as they were evenly numbered.

But then there was a mighty smash as Combeferre saw what looked like a bottle of beer flying through the air before it smashed against the alley wall not too far from where the miscreants were guarding Eponine. Fortunately, such an assault convinced them that the girl wasn't worth the trouble and they dispersed into the night. While Enjolras' eyes were only for the girl as she slumped to the ground, Combeferre looked about to find the source of the projectile and was surprised to see Grantaire with a disoriented look of great distress on his face at the sight of his fallen friend.

Neither man said anything as they quickly joined Enjolras where he was crouched beside the young woman but Combeferre could practically feel the guilt radiating off of Grantaire as he took in her current state. Enjolras was cupping her head, supporting it away from the harsh brick wall and her eyelids were fluttering open and closed. Her legs that had been so admired earlier that evening were grimy from the dirt of the streets and her hair was tousled but it was the dark bruises forming on her arm where she'd been gripped that made their stomachs turn so violently.

Enjolras had to suppress the urge to not hunt down the bastards who tried to take advantage of her and instead focused on trying to get her to respond to him.

"Eponine," he said softly but insistently, one hand holding the back of her head, the other cupping her cheek lightly to try to return her to her senses. "Can you hear me?"

She blinked several times, before finally forcing her eyes open to look about slowly with confusion and worry, "Where did the lions go?"

Enjolras paused. Did she have a concussion? He looked to Combeferre for how to respond to this and noticed Grantaire for the first time. The dark curly haired man wore a borderline distraught face but Enjolras had no time nor interest in worrying about his perpetually drunk roommate just then. He returned his attention to Eponine trying to soothe her and calm the frantic way her eyes seemed to be darting about.

"There are no lions here. You're safe," he assured her as calmly as he could, before adding on worriedly, "Are you alright?"

She groaned as she seemed to becoming more aware, but her reactions were still slow and she was slow to respond. "My head…"

She moved a hand to up to the back of her head where she had hit it against the wall on her way down. Enjolras' heart seemed to go into double time as he watched her fingers return, darkened with blood.

He took in a sharp inhale of breath and tried to continue on as business-like as he could, "will you be okay? Do you need a hospital?"

She might not have been 100% but she knew she didn't have the money for a hospital visit, no matter how much her head was ringing. "No, no hospitals, please."

Enjolras wasn't sure if that was the best decision but after what just happened he wasn't going to try to force her to do anything she didn't want to. "Okay, no hospitals."

He was stymied, feeling more and more useless by the moment. He wanted to help, he just didn't know how. He turned to the others once more, "do either of you know where she lives? She needs some rest."

Eponine moaned louder than she had since the assault as her brain pieced together what Enjolras was suggesting. The vague memory of her fight with her parents that evening that had led to all this came to the surface. She didn't care if this head wound was throbbing horribly, there was no way she was going back there.

But of course everything was still far too fuzzy and painful for her to voice any of this, and she only managed to get out another weak protestation.

Enjolras was alarmed at this and shot a glance to the other two for ideas. Grantaire spoke up; his voice hollow as all vestiges of intoxication from just 20 minutes ago completely faded away.

"Her parents kicked her out tonight." He told the others somberly, "that's why she was at the bar."

Enjolras couldn't help but bow his head at that. He'd known something was off; something was different, and his tendency to take the world on his shoulders had him blaming himself for not figuring it out and keeping it from coming to this, even as the rational part was yelling that there was nothing he could have done.

He looked down on her as he removed his hand from her face as she rubbed her eyes blearily, groaning as she moved her head. He just didn't know what was to be done and that frustrated him.

He didn't look up but he directed his voice over his shoulder, "What do we do?"

There was a beat of silence before Combeferre spoke up for the first time since this all started. "We could take her back to our place."

Enjolras met his gaze in surprise. Could they do that? It seemed like their best option given her homeless state and her refusal of a hospital. He looked back at the girl in front of him who hadn't responded but he wasn't sure she'd even heard the soft spoken man.

"Would that be alright?" he asked her quietly, trying to be mindful of his volume.

She forced herself to meet his gaze, to focus on the words he was saying so earnestly. She tried to remember the context of the question but everything was too blurry. He seemed to catch the inquiry in her eyes because he expanded, "Would you be okay with coming home and staying with us?"

She didn't say anything for a long minute, a minute in which she tried to figure out if that was okay with her and a minute in which none of the three men breathed.

Finally and haltingly she nodded, "Anywhere but my parents' house."

Enjolras gave a curt nod, determined to keep her away from such poisonous people as long as he could; as long as she would let him. And with that, he rose before carefully leaning down to help her up. Her legs were fine other than a little sore, but she was still so unsteady between the booze from earlier and the head injury and she swayed more than Enjolras would have liked. If he had his way he would have picked her off her feet and carried her to their car down the block, but he knew Eponine had always been very prideful and even in such a state as she was, she wouldn't have been able to handle such a treatment. So instead Enjolras nodded Combeferre over to her other side and the two of them helped support her weight as she stumbled uncoordinatedly between them. Like some contestants for a bizarre five legged race, the three of them made their way slowly and carefully down the dark alley.

Grantaire hung back a little bit, regret and guilt choking him. His head drooped in shame, his gaze boring into the uneven asphalt when his eyes alighted on Eponine's high heels he had admired so much earlier that night discarded on the ground just like all of the fun from earlier in the evening. Almost on dejected autopilot, he bent down to pick up the footwear and turned to follow the others as they made their slow way home, his mind counting up all the ways this horrible incident was his fault.

**Author's note: okay so let me just say that was longer than I thought it would be and the funny thing is this is all I mean to write but as I've been getting to the end my muse has decided to whisper "hey Fin, I know what happens next. You should write it. It'll be great, you can't end there." Damn it. I don't know when I'll have time to get to it but I think I have to right a sequel or continuation or something because damn I'm not sure I can leave it there.**

**Anyway, I hope you liked it. It was a bit of an experiment in several different ways. Like the whole attempted assault scene was very strange and different from what I normally write but part of me didn't want to write it in a conventional way and then suddenly my Muse started comparing it to a circus and there you go. I know it was a little out there but I hope you liked it. Combeferre's role was also expanded. He initially didn't have an internal monologue about Enjolras and originally Grantaire didn't accompany them to fine Eponine but then he showed up and it really worked.**

**Okay I'll shut up now but I hope you enjoyed it.**


	2. Little Lion Man

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, I am playing with other people's toys. _-Lyrics and Title from Mumford and Sons' Little Lion Man-_**

**Author's note: Okay I'm back and I am so sorry it took me this long school has been driving me crazy but I finally earned a reprieve to finish this chapter before finals. Yay! And I have to go ahead and say that this chapter will not be a two shot as originally intended but a multi-chapter so hopefully I can work more on this story soon.**

**Also this chapter is dedicated to my two amazing betas Swellerando and Captain Tiny. Thank you.**

**Also I have to say that this chapter took a different turn in the middle than originally intend but I hope that you guys are all okay with what happens so um yeah.**

**Anyway I should mention that the third person portions can switch between Enjolras, Combeferre and eventually Grantaire based on the section but anytime its first person it will always be Eponine. Okay that's it! Enjoy!**

_Weep for yourself, my man,_

_You'll never be what is in your heart_

_Weep, little lion man,_

_You're not as brave as you were at the start_

_Rate yourself and rake yourself_

_Take all the courage you have left_

_Wasted on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head_

When the group got back to the car, Enjolras surprised Combeferre by asking for his keys. Their leader was a man of the people and, as such a strong advocate of the public transportation system, didn't even own a car. Combeferre thought to deny him, as he wasn't exactly level headed at the moment, but after taking one look at the set of Enjolras' jaw, Combeferre surrendered command of the vehicle over without a word. He then proceeded to ease Eponine into the backseat with the help of the unusually silent Grantaire.

The whole drive back, Enjolras was quiet, though his eyes kept darting to the rearview mirror to check on Eponine. Though Grantaire also mute, Combeferre could see him splitting the entire ten minute journey staring out the window in a disconsolate fashion and flicking his gaze nervously to the now dozing girl beside him as though he were checking that she was still breathing.

When they arrived, since both of his companions seemed so altered from their normal behaviors, Combeferre took it upon himself to carry the now unconscious Eponine up to their apartment and into the room Courfeyrac used to occupy before getting a place with Marius. Enjolras and Grantaire followed behind him the whole way like somber shadows.

His medical training kicking in, Combeferre focused all of his attention on his patient as he retrieved his first aid kit from the bathroom across the hall. It was nowhere near as extensive as Joly's own kit but it would get the job done.

Grantaire and Enjolras, by unspoken agreement, decided to hang back in the living room so Combeferre could do his job without their radiating concern distracting him from the task at hand, which he appreciated. After bandaging the head wound the best he could with all of her hair in the way, he checked her arm and other vitals. Then, feeling awkward about leaving her just on the bed he proceeded to tuck her in before leaving her to her rest to deliver his prognosis to his waiting roommates.

"She'll be fine," he assured them immediately, being mindful of his volume so as not to wake her up. "The gash was superficial and her responses are normal. Her arm is bruised but they didn't pull anything, so that's a plus. She's a little out of it, but that's more to do with the alcohol than the assault itself."

At this, Grantaire ducked his head as another load of guilt added to his growing pile of shame.

Combeferre noted this and tried to be kinder about it, but he had to tell the truth. "All she really needs right now is rest and, when the morning comes, some Asprin. But she shouldn't need a hospital, and that's good. I'll try to keep an eye on her for a while but I don't want to leave her alone. I know we all have class tomorrow, and normally I'd stay here anyway, but I have to give a presentation that's worth half my grade. I guess I'll call around and see who is free to come sit with her."

"I'll stay home tomorrow." Grantaire spoke up almost immediately causing both of his flatmates to look over at him- Combeferre with understanding and Enjolras with a mixture of surprise and grim approval. Neither said anything, though they could sense his feeling of responsibility for the troubled girl.

There really wasn't much left _to_ say. Enjolras shot Grantaire a slight glare that really said everything he felt about R's part in the situation but he was trying to hold back until he was in a better frame of mind. Grantaire, meanwhile, bore the angry look without even so much as a hurt expression as he might have done in days past. The slump of his shoulders spoke of a man defeated that Enjolras might not have noticed in his present state of mind but Combeferre certainly picked up on.

As for Combeferre- a man who appreciated philosophy- he could see both points of view. On one hand, Grantaire could be a frustrating person to share an apartment with. He left dishes everywhere, he smoked in the living room when the others weren't there, his art projects were messy and took up a lot of space, and then there was his excessive drinking and constant cynicism. He could be a pain, there was no denying that; but he was also human and clearly had a lot of shit he was trying to bury beneath the alcohol and cigarette smoke. Combeferre could tell from Grantaire's current expression, however, that there was nothing he could say that would help and it was best to let him be.

So the three men went their separate ways: Enjolras and Combeferre to their own bedrooms while Grantaire, however, could barely bring himself to move and simply shuffled to the couch on the far side of the room. And there he sat in a numb manner- not to sleep but to stare into space.

He was still there 5 hours later when Enjolras and Combeferre emerged to go to class. There were bags under his eyes that left the inescapable impression of a man who hadn't slept. Combeferre surreptitiously hid the alcohol before he left and set a mug of coffee on the table by the couch instead, not daring to attempt to rouse him from his current stupor.

He then shook his head sadly at the whole situation and followed the silent and surly Enjolras out again, wishing there was more he could do.

-O-

_But it was not your fault but mine_

_And it was your heart on the line_

_I really fucked it up this time_

_Didn't I, my dear?_

_Didn't I, my dear?_

I had no idea where I was when I woke up the next morning but, considering the marching band going in full swing in my head, it wasn't exactly my first concern. Groaning, I buried my head in the pillow that was far too plump to be my own. When the drums had died down some, I finally emerged from the pillowy depths to gain my bearings. Forcing my eyes open I was greeted with the sight of a piece of paper with my name on it and a glass of water on the nightstand. Rolling onto my back, I slowly rose to sit up so I could quench the burning in my throat. That was when I noticed soreness on my upper arm and saw a large hand-shaped, deep purple bruise forming there. I stared at it for a good minute, trying to remember where it came from but couldn't so I hoped that the paper would explain. After downing half the glass, I finally took the note in hand, my desire for answers growing the more I woke up.

It read:

_Eponine,_

_I hope you are feeling better, last night was pretty rough. Sorry I'm not there to tell you in person__.__ Enjolras and I had class, but Grantaire should be there if you need anything._

_I've left you some Aspirin on the nightstand and there should be some coffee in the kitchen. Feel free to help yourself to anything you like. If you need something, my number is on the fridge that you can text. Please make yourself comfortable and stay as long as you want._

_ Combeferre_

As I read over the note for context clues, a few of the missing pieces as to how I ended up in this extraordinarily comfy bed came flying in to hit me in the face.

Oh god, I'd been drinking. A lot.

I cannot remember a time I'd drunk that much before.

Oh, and there'd been dancing. And singing.

Why the hell did I think that was a good idea?

Oh right. My parents. And Marius. And Gropey McAsshole. Did I have some sort of shit magnet I wasn't aware of? In any case, I no longer questioned why I would have drunk so excessively. In fact, I almost wished I was the blackout kind of drunk so I didn't have to remember.

Seeking to fudge over such memories I ran my hands through my dirty hair exasperatedly. _Ow. _Okay, that should not have hurt.

Probing carefully, I ran my hands along the back of my scalp once more. And there I found, where something definitely hadn't been last night, was a very small amount of gauze applied to the top of the back of my head and what felt like very sensitive skin underneath. That certainly explained the entire percussion section of the symphony orchestra camping out in my head earlier. What the hell did I do to myself?

I downed a couple of the Asprin mentioned in the note and spent the next 20 minutes lying in bed rereading the message to try to figure out what exactly happened the night before to lead to a head wound and me spending the night in the abode of some of my favorite regulars.

Fortunately, after that I could finally contemplate the idea of standing up without feeling ill, so I reluctantly left the cozy confines. Of course, as soon as I stood up, my stomach decided to revolt, and I found myself running out of the room looking for a bathroom, glad to see one just across the hall. After emptying my stomach and washing out my mouth in the sink, I realized that I'd probably spectacularly announced my presence to Grantaire and realized there was no point in hiding out in my borrowed room. Besides, the promise of coffee and the possibility of more answers drew me out.

I'd never been to the apartment of any of the Amis before, so after leaving the bathroom, I supposed the open archway on the right side down the hall would lead to the living room and the kitchen. I was right and soon I found myself in the doorway to a decently sized common room with a view of a connected kitchen across the way. I vaguely noticed the large bookshelves with countless tomes, the easel in the corner with a display of oil paint all around it, and the beer bottles scattered all around; but they were all secondary observations to the occupant of the love seat pushed against the far wall to the right.

There sat Grantaire, staring but unseeing. He didn't even look up at my entrance. His hair was a wreck, and there was a dead look in his eyes. He was wearing the same Salvador Dali shirt I'd noticed last night and unless he was sleeping with his eyes open, I didn't think he'd slept at all.

"R?" I called hesitantly from the doorway. As if emerging from a trance his eyes slowly found mine and for half a second I saw a flicker of emotions at seeing me, but then it was gone again as quickly as it had come.

I'd never seen him like this and half of me wondered if it was because I'd never seen him this early, but I highly doubted that. I mean, there was a difference between not being a morning person and looking like you hated every second of your existence. Besides, there was a weight to his shoulders I'd never seen before and it worried me. I found myself inching forward slowly as if afraid he might run. But there such a fear was completely unwarranted as he showed no signs of going anywhere anytime soon.

There was a cold cup of coffee on the table that I passed on my way to him and that more than anything made me feel like something was very wrong.

"Are you okay?" I asked hesitantly once I was standing beside him.

A silent shoulder shrug was all I got in reply.

He was clearly in some sort of mood he didn't wanna talk about, so I plopped down beside him and tried to distract him as he had done for me the night before.

"Whew," I exclaimed, leaning against the couch back, hoping to strike up an amiable topic. "How much did we drink last night?"

Normally the discussion of alcohol or revelry of any kind would open him right up but now, for some reason, I could see something crumple in his face when I spoke.

"How much do you remember from last night?" he mumbled at last.

"Well," I began with a grin at my small victory of getting him to talk before I tried to wrack the scrambled eggs of my mind to answer. "I remember the Jaegerbombs and the drinking contest. Oh and the "You're the One That I Want" duet- you've got an impressive set of pipes, my friend." I grinned before pausing as I entered to fuzzy territory. "Then I think we were gonna set up a barricade- after that… did we go to a circus?"

He didn't answer right away but instead buried his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes to brace himself. "_I _was the one who built the barricade because you disappeared."

He halted, bringing his hands down to meet my gaze with haunted eyes. "When we found you, you were in an alley with two creeps. They had a knife but you were so out of it I don't think you realized. We managed to scare them off but you banged your head pretty bad when they were running away. We didn't know what to do since you refused the hospital, so we took you back here."

Well, it certainly made sense. My hand found the gash on my head as I thought on the context of such an injury.

"At least that explains the mystery bandage." I said it with a smirk but he didn't look like he'd be smiling anytime soon. I nudged his shoulder playfully. "Hey, it's fine. I'm fine. What's got you so down?"

"It was my fault." He said it so quietly I nearly didn't catch it.

I narrowed my eyes at him. So that was what got him so down. "Did you bang my head against the wall?"

He gave me a funny look out of the corner of his eye. "Well, no."

"I see. Then did you happen to befriend a couple of local lowlifes and recruit them to attack me?" I inquired in a mock reasonable fashion.

"No," he replied with mild irritation in his voice.

"Oh wait! I got it! You were the one to kick me out of the house! Right! That must be why this is all your fault."

"Eponine," he interrupted angrily. "Be serious."

"Yes because blaming yourself for a string of circumstances completely beyond your control is such a serious occupation," I snarked right back.

"I'm the one who got you drunk!" he finally snapped, throwing his hands down in agitation.

"You know what, those memories are actually pretty clear and I don't remember you forcing any drinks down my throat!" I countered.

"No but I suggested it to you!" he said,. "It was my idea!"

"We were in a _bar_. I'm pretty sure the idea would have come to me anyway." I saw his mouth open to argue but I cut him off. "Forget it, R. I'm a big girl and I make my own decisions, not anyone else. And it was my decision to get shitfaced last night. Besides, from what I do remember, I had a really great time and I don't regret it. And anyway it's because I was so drunk that I don't even remember the whole 'threatened with a knife' bit so I call that a plus. Could you drop it now? It was not your fault!"

He took a deep breath but I could tell he wasn't over it.

"Why can't you let this go?" I couldn't help but ask as I bored my gaze into his troubled face.

"It wasn't supposed to be like that," he said after a brief period of silence. "Alcohol was supposed to be an escape from everything. I'm the only one who was supposed to be affected by it. No one else was supposed to be hurt."

I sighed impatiently. Who knew such an easy-going, party person could carry around such guilt and angst? This was ridiculous. With no further thought I leaned forward and lifted up the back of my shirt.

"You see this?" I asked to get his attention while pointing a scar on the right side of my lower back. "I got this two years ago when my father thought I was withholding my paycheck. He shoved me into the kitchen table, accidentally breaking one of our few glass dishes into my back. There was no alcohol involved there, just an asshole and the world is full of them so I'm used to it. Shit happens, R, and most of it is not your fault. I make my own decisions, not you. I decided to stockpile money then to help pay for Gavroche's schooling and I decided to drink way more than I needed to last night. Why do you insist on taking responsibility for shit beyond your control?"

I looked back finally to see his eyes glued on the site of the old stitches with a look of morbid fascination, his hand hovering just above it when he finally broke away and met my inquiring gaze.

He breathed haltingly before he finally spoke, though not in the direction I was expecting. "You're a good sister. I've seen how much you try to take care of Gavroche and that's a good thing. It's just- it reminds me too much sometimes that I wasn't as good of a brother to my little sister."

My jaw dropped. In all the time I'd known and hung out with him he'd never given any inclination about siblings or any family members at all actually. I'd always assumed he was an only child or an orphan or just didn't get on well with his family at all.

"You have a sister?"

He leaned back against the couch and looked up at the ceiling with regret. "_Had_. I had a sister."

To say I was simultaneously floored and heartbroken was an understatement. I let my shirt drop and moved back to join him. I didn't know if more questions would be too probing or not, but he _had_ been the one to bring it up and I felt an urge to know more. "What happened?"

"I was a dumb teenager," he began with a sad shrug and though these was some quiet emotion bubbling beneath the surface he relayed it as methodically as if relaying current events as if he was trying to distance himself from what he was actually saying. "I was thirteen years old and I thought there couldn't be a worse chore than looking after Jacquelyn. My parents were very busy and didn't have time for us, so I was left in charge a lot and I kind of hated it. I was at an age where it wasn't cool to hang around with your silly little seven year-old sister. I wanted to be left alone to listen to the angsty music I didn't understand yet and play my video games with my friends. That day she decided to put on a show in the backyard and, since she wasn't allowed outside on her own, that meant that I had to join her out in the hot sun, so I was pissed about that and in retaliation I decided not to watch after all but instead listen to my music and play my Gameboy. I wasn't paying attention and she knew it so she kept trying to do tricks, dumb little ballet twirls on the back porch while I sat in the yard."

He paused for a moment, trying to find the words before trudging on with desperation in his voice as if trying to get me to understand but still wrestling with the idea himself.

"She was trying to get my attention and I wouldn't give it to her so she started doing more tricks, I could see her twisting about from the edge of my vision but then one trick went wrong and she flipped off the porch. It wasn't even that high. Maybe 2 feet or so and I thought she was fine, just faking it but she wasn't moving. I finally put down the damn game and went over to her."

Grantaire stopped to calm his breathing as it was clear some sort of emotion was building within him I didn't want to push him. The desperation that had bubbled up when he said she wasn't moving was gone to be replaced with an apathy acquired by having to deal with such a memory for so long.

She had landed on her neck and there was some bleeding from under her hair and she wasn't responding. I called an ambulance first and then my parents but they didn't pick up so I called my neighbor instead. They sat with me until the paramedics came but I could tell that Jacquelyn was already gone. My parents didn't respond until hours later; they'd been at a function and had turned their phones off but by that time it was confirmed she was dead and there was nothing to be done."

I felt tears filling up my eyes as I imagined the scene playing out with Gavroche in Jacquelyn's place. I felt sick to my stomach and an overwhelming sense of sympathy for Grantaire. I couldn't imagine how horrible going through something like that would be.

I could also tell from the way he spoke about it that these words were rusty and hadn't been used in a long time, like he'd been trying to forget. Like maybe he drank so much to get away from it all. But it seemed like something he needed to get out. Something that, given what happened last night, he _had_ to get out; like he needed someone else to carry the burden of the regret of his dead sister. And I'd be damned if I would let him down.

Trying to be gentle as I attempted to help him get it out, I spoke tentatively, hoping I was going in the right direction. "What happened?"

He sighed, he didn't meet my eyes but he kept going, as though he thought if he spoke faster it'd be easier to say. "When my parents finally called back my neighbor had to answer and explain what happened because I just couldn't. By the time they got home they were past the initial shock and my mother had moved into a state of denial. She couldn't focus on the fact that her only daughter had died so she instead went about following the procedure of what to do when a loved one died. She arranged the funeral, she cleaned up the porch and she scheduled an appointment with a psychologist for me to help with my 'trauma' of seeing it happen."

I could tell he was trying to be clinical about it, as if by distancing himself even in the retelling as he had done for so long, then maybe he could convince himself such a horrible story wasn't from his own life but from someone else's. But something crept into his voice as he kept going: a sense bitterness tinged with regret that no matter how many years of running from it could completely erase.

"My dad was different, though. He went straight to anger and stayed there. He blamed me entirely. He'd always spoiled Jacquelyn and because I was supposed to watch her, it had to be my fault. When he wasn't yelling at me, he was ignoring me like I didn't exist. My mom tried to continue the role of 'good mom' for me but she was never the same after losing Jacquelyn, though she tried her best to save face and never admit it. I proceeded to bounce from shrink to shrink until we found one that would just let me draw instead of talk. I liked that one. That was where I first met art. As screwed up as the circumstances were that was where I learned art was basically the only thing I was good at. My mom supported me with it but when my dad wasn't actively denying my existence, he would yell about how I was wasting my life."

He chuckled darkly and without any mirth as if remembering some distant argument they'd had. "He probably would have kicked me out if it wouldn't have looked even worse for his reputation than a dead daughter did. I got out as soon as I could though. I discovered alcohol long before I was legal and basically try to hide from all of that shit that happened when I moved here for college. I haven't been back home in about a year and a half, and I don't think I ever want to go back. My dad still blames me for killing Jacquelyn. And I agree with him. And last night it felt like I was back in that yard again, too caught up in my own shit to realize you needed me. I let you down and I'm sorry."

He hung his head low, but I could see a slight wetness in his eyes; his right hand on the other side of him was shaking and I couldn't stand it. I knew life wasn't fair, my entire life was basically a public service announcement to that effect but this- this was beyond not fair. And I was instantly enraged at his father for putting all this shit on him. Instinctively my hand went to his arm to demand that he look at me.

"Hey, you listen to me." I gave him my best steely eye as his sad baby blues met my dark ones. "That was not your fault. What happened that day was horrible, but it was not all your fault. You were thirteen and you shouldn't have been repeatedly put in that position. It wasn't fair that you weren't allowed to goof off and be a kid. And yeah she may have been trying to get your attention but that doesn't mean you killed her. I can't count the number of times Gav has done something dumb to make me notice him. That's what kids do. You didn't push her off the porch," at this he looked as if he wanted to disagree but I wasn't having any of it.

"Don't you damn dare say you might as well have because that is complete bull. Your father is even more of a jackass than mine for blaming you for a situation he created. That is sick and cruel and it makes me wanna find him and kick him in the groin. You were a kid who just saw his kid sister die and he had no right to put that blame on you. It was an accident."

He looked at me with solemn disbelieving eyes as if he had expected me to place the blame on him too. And I looked at him as if my eyes had just been opened. Despite the year I had known him, I felt like I was seeing him for the first time as who he really was beneath all the alcohol and the charcoal under his nails. Gone was the party boy image who didn't give a crap to be replaced by this lonely young man with sad eyes and the misplaced guilt of nine years past.

"I'm so, so sorry, Grantaire. I'm sorry about Jacquelyn and I'm sorry about your father. I'm sorry that you blame yourself for all of this and especially last night. But it is not your fault. None of it is and I can't say that enough."

He didn't say anything as he met my steady gaze but soon his hand reached out to hold mine which I took instantly, giving him a reassuring squeeze. We didn't speak again after that but instead just sat there in silence for an unknown stretch of time and I simply hoped he would let what I had said sink in.

We were still sitting like that awhile later when we heard a jingling from the front door followed by the appearance of Combeferre and Enjolras with book bags slung over their shoulders and worn looks upon their faces. But upon entering and spotting the two of us across the room their expressions immediately changed. Combeferre openly smiled as he dropped his bag by the door as he said "Eponine! I'm so glad you're awake."

He immediately came over to examine the proof better for himself. Enjolras hung back by the door, still holding onto his bag, a great deal more reserved but I could have sworn I saw a spark in his eye when he saw me as well. But I didn't have very long to think about that before Combeferre made it to us, a sad smile spared for the coffee he must have left there that morning on the table.

"Combeferre," I addressed him with matching enthusiasm, "thank you so much for the Aspirin and the note this morning, I was a little fuzzy and I would've had trouble figuring out where I was without your help."

"Well that doesn't surprise me, what with your escapades last night." He said in a kind way but neither of us missed the way Grantaire averted his eyes at the comment and I could tell he still felt bad about it. Luckily, Combeferre was more than willing to move things along, "How's your head?"

I reached up to touch it subconsciously, "Oh it's doing well, thank you for tending to my battle wounds."

He dismissed my thanks quickly as he sat down on the couch catty corner to ours. "It was the least I could do."

"Still, I appreciate you guys looking after me. I'm very touched." I tried to express my earnest gratitude without sounding too mushy or setting Grantaire off again.

"Don't mention it," Combeferre replied amiably, he was such a good guy. He genuinely seemed pleased I was doing better.

It was amazing what a different perspective going through an attempted mugging with a few guys from work could give a girl. I had known they were good, fun guys but I had no idea of the depths they had been hiding.

I looked around the room for a clock and when I didn't find one, I turned to Combeferre. "You guys must have just gotten out of class, how late is it?"

Combeferre checked his watch. "Half past four."

My eyes widened. I didn't know how long I had sat and talked (and not talked) with R but I couldn't believe I had slept so late. I can't remember the last time I slept past noon. But based on what I heard about my adventures last night, I figured I'd needed it. A small silence settled in and I was starting to feel awkward and like an intruder, considering I know how I felt after class in high school and how I'd always needed some time to myself. So after a look to both Grantaire and Combeferre on either side of me who both seemed content enough to just sit in silence I figured I'd probably overstayed my welcome.

Without further ado I patted a hand on both their knees with the intent to use them as a means to help launch myself off the couch I announced, "Welp, I should probably be going?"

"Going?" Combeferre immediately repeated with a confused look on his face and I could see Grantaire's head whip to look at me from the corner of my eye.

"Yeah," I answered standing up. "It's getting on in the day and you all probably have things you need to do without me hanging around."

"Don't be ridiculous," Enjolras spoke up for the first time since entering. He was still by the door but his bag was now on the desk near it, and he was looking at me with a stubbornness to rival Gavroche's on bath day.

I quirked an eyebrow at him. "It's not being ridiculous. You guys have already been kind enough to put me up for the night when I was clearly in a state, but I don't want to impose."

"You wouldn't be imposing." Combeferre insisted beside me but my eyes were still on Enjolras, who seemed to be issuing a silent sort challenge within me.

"I'm sure you guys have things to be doing that would be better achieved if I was out of your hair." I insisted, trying to be gracious about it.

"But you don't have anywhere else to go," Enjolras reminded me sternly. "Grantaire told us you were kicked out last night."

I cast a questioning glance at the person in question, and he responded by ducking his head guiltily, though I know at the time he probably had a good reason for telling them what with me refusing the hospital and all. But I was not willing to back down so easily.

"Well I have to be at work in a few hours so I might as well just show up early and help them prepare for opening."

It wasn't that I didn't want to hang with them it was just that it felt like I didn't belong there among those college boys. They were the type who'd grown up semi-well off as opposed to me: the bartender that barely made it through high school having to contend with assholes for parents who basically split their time sponging off of me and everyone else that passed by. I felt like I didn't fit in and of course my natural reaction was to get out when situations bordered on too awkward. And I felt this case definitely applied.

Unfortunately the boys had other ideas in mind because I heard from beside me a hesitant "Well…actually," causing me to turn and look at Combeferre who was looking a little sheepish. "Musichetta called earlier to check on you and when I told her what happened she insisted that you take the night off…"

He kind of trailed off as if he was worried that I'd be offended that they'd made such decisions without me and, well, maybe a little bit of me was, but on the other hand it was really nice and kind of strange having other people looking out for me. After years under my parents' roof, I was used to having no one but Gav on my side and considering he's only 12, it's a lot to ask of a kid to handle anything other than taking care of himself.

"Oh," I paused as if the wind had been knocked out of me. I really didn't know what else to say. I didn't actually feel like I had anywhere else I could go besides maybe Cosette's but I was nowhere near desperate enough to catch a private viewing of the 'Marius and Cosette Are Excruciatingly In Love' show. And I knew that, but at the same time I wanted me staying or going to be my own decision and these boys, these stubborn well-meaning university students, were kind of taking that away from me.

I threw my hands up in frustration. "Well now I don't know what to do with myself."

"You could stay here," Grantaire piped up with a painful little sense of longing in his voice that kind of hurt my heart.

"No, I can't," I immediately responded, without thinking.

"Why not?" Enjolras contested from his side of the room, "You don't have anywhere else to stay."

"Yeah, well, by that reasoning, I might as well stay with a pack of murdering thieves," I quipped before I saw a look of alarm, confusion and slight offense pass over all of their faces at once. Then it hit me how close my sorry attempt at a joke came to my actual encounter last night before I realized that I really needed to clarify. "I'm not saying you guys are on the same level as murdering thieves but I need a better reason than just lack of other options."

I could tell Enjolras was trying to be reasonable and not take my previous refusals personally, but he was relentless as he tried another tack. "We're not trying to force you to stay, Eponine. But as it seems that you are in a bit of a tough spot right now. It is more convenient for you stay here since we have a spare room and are so close to your work. By all points, it seems to be the best option right now. Besides, you at least know us and I can only hope that you would trust us, after so long, to help you out while you get back on your feet."

I crossed my arms as I tried to take in his suggestion. The hard part was he did have a point and their place was not bad. It was actually really nice considering they were college kids and it _was_ pretty close to the bar. And I _did_ like and trust them _a lot_, but that wasn't the problem. It was the whole 'helping me out while I got back on my feet' bit that made me feel like I needed to make myself clear.

"Okay, I really really appreciate the offer and it does mean a lot to me, but I need to make sure you guys understand something." I locked eyes with each of the guilt-tripping men before I continued. "I am not going to be a damn charity case. If I do stay here, I will just be crashing until I can find another place. And I will be paying rent. Now that my parents won't be basically pocketing everything I don't hide, I will have a little bit of money to pay you guys for now, because I will not be a moocher. I know you guys and your political group are all about equality for the people and helping those of lesser status, but I am not here to be a group project. You guys understand?"

My penetrating gaze passed over each of them once more as if daring them to argue. Grantaire seemed willing enough to accept my terms, and I could tell he was just glad I was staying. Combeferre nodded slowly as he took in my words leaving only Enjolras. He didn't say anything immediately as he fully contemplated my terms with his famous half-scowl.

Finally he met my eyes, "Your terms are reasonable enough. I promise to not treat you like a charity case but I'm not going to be hard on you. I would be lenient on any of my friends if they were going through such circumstances as you are. If you do change your mind and are having difficulty, please feel free to ask and we would be willing to offer any assistance you might need."

I showed my appreciation for such a sentiment with a slow nod of my head but I knew in my heart I would never be able to bring myself to ask for help in such a sense. It was difficult enough to allow the idea of staying here with these guys I'd never hung out with outside of work with before, but at this point I didn't think I could ask for a better alternative to practically land in my lap.

Maybe that was why I was so hesitant. I wasn't used to good things coming easily so I felt like I had to fight to make it more manageable.

With that decided and me feeling slightly strange about standing up and not actually having anywhere to go I turned to my new flatmates awkwardly. "So um… what's for dinner?"

Combeferre immediately stood up as if seizing the chance to do something productive even if it was a tad early for it. But considering I hadn't eaten since the night before I felt like this was a special circumstance.

Combeferre rubbed his hands together, "Well, it's my night to cook, so I was gonna make some stroganoff and asparagus."

I could see Grantaire make a face but I smiled and ignored it. "Mind if I help?"

Combeferre looked surprised but pleased at my offer and motioned in front of him towards the kitchen, "Please."

With a small smirk I ruffled Grantaire's hair and followed the medical student into the kitchen, catching a calculating but approving look from Enjolras as I went. If you had asked me two days ago if I thought I would be spending my evening making dinner and watching Game of Thrones with three of the principal members of Les Amis de l'ABC after agreeing to crash with them for a while, I probably would have laughed and cut you off for the rest of the night. But now that I found myself suddenly thrust into this situation, it was nice, really nice, and it almost worried me how much I wanted to able to get used to it.

**Author's Note: Mkay there's chapter two. And like I said it's really kind of different I was playing with more emotion work this time and it really took a different direction than I expected and I am so sorry I originally didn't intend to kill Jacquelyn but as I started writing it, it just kind of happened and it's horrible but I kind of needed and I'm sorry. Any way I also wanted to play with how Eponine might settle into such a situation while keeping them all in character but I hope I managed to pull it off.**

**Anyway I hope you all aren't too put off with me about what I did to Grantaire because he is one of my babies and I love him but sometimes writing means you hurt the ones you love. I also hope you liked the Eponine-Grantaire Bromance because it is one of the key relationships at play here because yeah I also want to play with Eponine and Enjolras I feel like any relationship between them would be much more slow going so I hope you guys are all content with Eponine/Grantaire's friendship in the meantime.**

**Okay enough rambling, please be kind. I'm really nervous about this chapter.**


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